


As All Great Things Do

by Tokine



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokine/pseuds/Tokine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everyone, including Minerva, sees it coming before Libra and Robin do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As All Great Things Do

It all started, as all great things do, with a small gesture. Libra first encountered the small band of Shepards as they try- and fail- to save the exalt. He can't help but notice that curiously dressed figure in the back, the only one that doesn't titter when chrom mistakes his gender even when he explicitly introduces himself as a priest. Even that gynophobe- clearly identified by the wide berth he gives the female members of the party that he later learns is named Lon'qu, quickly had to stifle a smile at the prince's expense. No, this one with the heavy cloak merely observes him, and despite the conservative robes he wears he's never felt this naked. Regardless, he does not shift or crumble under the glance, but he does note to himself this one should be watched.  
  
The heavy snow is a far cry from the sands of Plegia. The sun had yet to rise, and the camp was still dead to the world, so it was easy enough to slip out. Despite the frost that nips at the skin underneath the hastily knit scarf he'd received from Frederick - "We can't have our holy man getting sick" was the phrase he was met with as the parcel was gently handed to him but a fortnight ago, it truly was a beautiful day. Libra resolved to say and extra prayer for knight. Lost in thought, he didn't realize the touch coming until he felt the charge of electricity near his skin. There was only one he knew like that, the strength of her magic just so it still remained coursing through her fingers hours after she put her tome down. Stumbling away from the touch, he felt tension seep into his shoulders. There she was again, the tactician he'd vowed to keep his distance from. Nothing good could come of someone with such an acute knowledge of the human species- her sheer ability to unravel a person to their core- their thoughts and dreams and nightmares all privy to her just by her carefully picked but seemingly effortless words. Schooling his expression to be somewhat more of the gentle priest the Shepards had quickly grown to respect and adore, he bowed his head to the intruder.  
"Good morning, Robin." She smiled, and he wills his guard up. Wills himself not to let her work her magic on him, wills himself not to be selfish and perhaps turn the tables on her- for all the most unlikely people she's ever seen cry, he doesn't think he's ever seen her open up nor shed a single tear.

It's only when Ricken huffs and puffs his way to their little hiding spot- "They really should have lent me a horse!"- he lamented to the duo, and Robin cheerfully agreed with the mage and ruffled his hair, cooing, until he caught his breath enough to shove her playful hands off, that Libra realized the time. He thought he'd be able to say his prayers and perhaps sketch for an hour before the Shepards had to set off again for the next destination. Around noontime were they to begin the march, and between gasps Ricken told them just how worried he was about them for being an entire hour late for final checkups. And as the tactician winked at Libra, challenging Ricken to a race back to camp, Libra knew. This girl was absolutely dangerous, and despite that had managed to wedge a place for herself in his heart.

She's found her way into his drawings now. It's not her of course, because he fashions himself as someone who has enough walls up that he doesn't come crashing down into someone's arms after a few nice conversations. So it's definitely not her who dances in his sketchbook, not her who smiles sweetly on a backdrop of crystalline lakes and trees coated in the snow as the sun first rises. But perhaps, the figure he draws shares the same dark eyes, same snow white hair, the same smile that twists from mischievous to heart achingly honest in the blink of an eye. And perhaps she always does seem to have a tome handy, in her lap or hands. But that's just coincidental he thinks, there's many girls with brown eyes in camp, with very light hair and nice smiles and perhaps he can't think of anyone who carries around tomes as much as Robin but he's sure he just can't think of them right then. Of course, there she was, summoned by his wayward thoughts. For once she's been unobservant enough that she hadn't noticed the priest- or perhaps she's just pretending to settle his unease and let him collect his thoughts. Regardless of the reason, he watches the woman flick through the pages of her tome, processing the ancient texts with frightening speed. He can almost see the hypothetical battlefield above her head, every character of their ever expanding party placed for strategic perfection. It's going well, he can tell, from the satisfied smile on her face she only wears when she knows the ones she's tasked herself with protecting will be safe. She never smiles when she strikes down an enemy, not like the confident smirk he's seen many wear nor any form of quiet strength. Her face is always stone cold and calculating during battles, but he's often seen her slip into the prayer tents on the late night, and knows. Knows she prays for every person she strikes down, every family she's torn a piece out of. But then, just as his thoughts turn dark, so does her face. It seems her strategy was not quite so foolproof at all, and she's had to scrap and rehash it. Libra admires the perfection Robin has committed herself to. Not a single member of their party has died- although all of them, at one point or another, have approached him before a battle for their final rites just in case he wasn't close enough when Naga called. He particularly remembers when Sumia did this. The girl- who'd proven herself to be a woman in the battle, and a fierce warrior besides- hadn't cried or carried on as he expected her to. What scared him most was not this unwonted behavior, it was the smile so content she bestowed on him afterwards, as if she'd be content to die at that moment. During the clash following, he'd seen that determination in her eyes to protect, and a fierceness that stood even in the face of the enemy's archers. Truly, as a priest, he'd seen the world and so many of its unexpected developments, and even the older members of the party respected this wisdom he exuded. Libra just wondered how the amnesiac, who only had memories for about two years now could have such a worldliness about her, and such intelligence and strength to fuel it. But then, and he had to suppress laughter at the sight of her stealing candy from Gaius as she explained her current frustration with hands flailing, she was still human. Perhaps even still a little girl, he thought, as her messily pulled up hair fell piece by piece into her face but the rant continued. He resolves next time to paint this scene instead of his usual ones that offered more mystery and mystique.  
  
The next time he sees her, he doesn't until it's too late. She truly is a little girl, overconfident and self sacrificing, and she pushes Gerome's wyvern out of the way before the arrow hits- and instead takes the blow straight to her stomach. The battlefield is blazing fire, and through the cracklings of the flames and sickening crunches as trees fall on the bodies that were slain and break what was already broken he hears Chrom yelling for a medic and retreat. Gerome is the last to leave, slinging his axe into the hordes of risen that won't stop coming as Maribelle rushes the girl off on horseback. Libra resolves to stay behind as well and guard the wyvern rider from any more trouble as well as throw his own axe into the mix until he feels Tharja, of all people, pulling him into retreat. Her mouth says little but her eyes speak volumes, but it is as the words are written in a foreign language. The dark mage only offers a few words, "It is possible Robin will need your services," she mummers, and for once it's not a hiss, as he realizes what she's saying. He would not, could not, administer final rites to the tactician, he would not allow her to prepare for death yet, but as he dazedly stumbled into camp his hands found the necessary texts to read anyway. He found himself to be the last medic arriving in the tent, even Panne was busy brewing some concoction over a hastily built fire in the corner, and Frederick's arms were filled with every elixir they had in the inventory tent. After whispering a quick prayer over the body- he'd yet to recognize the bloody mess as her body- he focused all of his energy into his staff and joined the line of medics doing the same.  
  
Miriel, surprisingly, was the first to faint. Libra later learned it was she who cleaned out all of the wounds and changed the bandages as the other medics kept healing and healing. As Naga's strength seeped from his body as the sun set, he felt shaky on his feet as well. Gerome had been in and out of the tent, and right now was transporting the healers who had lost their ability to aid Robin any longer. The dried blood caking the usually pristine armor and wild eyes spoke to the hours the boy so young- too young- for this war spent holding back the waves of enemies from invading the camp. Once Libra was the last one left standing, Gerome simply held vigil in the medic tent, never once leaving the side of the tactician once he'd taken up his post. It was a couple hours into this that Libra felt his fingers start to burn. He'd never healed for quite this long before, and knew that soon the strength of his magic would start to hurt him and he'd faint like the others. Still, he persevered until Tharja pulled his fingers away from the staff, and he was so surprised at the loss that he could not speak.  
  
"The rites," She said softly, and Libra knew the mage had given up all hope for her savior to ever open her eyes again. At that, she softly placed the book he'd thrown aside in his rush into his hands. Gerome stiffened, but clamped his mouth shut. It seemed grief only amplified the reserved man's silence.  
"Be at peace Gerome, I have yet to give up hope." Libra was surprised at the rasp of his voice, a far cry from the soothing richness that had absolved the sins of so many. Regardless, the words had their intended effect, and Libra could see the weariness that had bowed the head of the proud wyvern rider and the fear in eyes hidden. "What would help Robin most right now would be to ease the strain of the medics and take care of yourself before we have to." With a stiffness in his limbs, Gerome shambled to his tent, and with that Libra knew that since the boy was gone, he had to do what needed to be done. With Tharja's watchful eyes over him, he approached the body- Robin. He approached Robin, and felt the despair he'd suppressed for so long rear its head and strike at him. The prayers, which during this time of war had grown awfully familiar, had never ripped up his heart in this way. It was an awful time to realize just how much he didn't know about the tactician, how little any of them ever knew about the woman who'd changed all of their lives and given them all hope, and now was reclaiming it in her death. They only knew what she'd shown them to appease of all of them, from her mischievous tomfoolery with Lon'qu to her gentle maternal side with Ricken. Who really was she, beyond all the airs she'd put on for all the different people in their team? Which one of those personalities was her? Of course, he knew, as he blessed her a safe return back to her home with Naga, they'd never know. "My prayers are with you, my child." But in that moment, he'd never felt so much like a child and as Robin as such an adult. He thanked the shadows as well, knowing Tharja would have disappeared when he turned around but would not be far enough from the tactician not to hear him. As reality settled onto his shoulders and weighed him down, his steps became more and more laborious to take until he stumbled onto the ground, the flora scorched and brittle from the earlier flames. Perhaps, the priest thought, I'll nap on the ground here for a little while to regain my strength. And with that, the holy man's eyes slipped shut.

As a traveler, Libra had slept in all kinds of beds before, but never one quite this scaly. Trailing his fingers over the tough skin surrounding him, his sleep hazed mind slowly put to together the pieces. It seemed he'd fallen asleep on the ground somewhere between the medic tent and his own, and Gerome's wyvern had taken it upon herself to protect him from the cold. Remembering his manners, he smiled at the amber eyes appraising him. "Good morning Minerva. Thank you for protecting me last night." The gentle giant only snorted, stretching her body so it still still surrounded and warmed him but he was free to get up if he pleased. Rubbing the side of her face- a trait he'd picked up from the horse riders in camp, because while a wyvern wasn't exactly a horse, he figured they would still appreciate the gesture, Libra pulled himself into a sitting position. His stomach turned as he remembered just what had happened tonight, and he hoped the wyvern wasn't protecting him out of guilt or some kind of retribution for his attempts at healing the woman who'd saved them both. "Thank you again, but it's time to check up on Robin." He surprised himself with the strength of his voice, but it was overshadowed by the apparent sadness of the wyvern and the drooping of her tail. "I'm sure she'll be happy to hear you're safe, would you like to go with me to tell her?" There, now Minerva was much more animated. She really did take after her rider, both fiercely protective and shy, but harboring guilt even for something that wasn't their fault. They walked on in amiable silence, Minerva lumbering behind him, and surprisingly it was her who gently nosed the flaps of the medical tent open even as it was Libra who reached it first. He smiled gently at the sight of Gerome, who must have came back when he was asleep, standing up where he had taken up vigil last night but still snoring softly. Libra then turned his eyes toward the figure in the bed, and it seemed even Naga herself could not deny the weight of importance Robin held over all of their destinies, for as frail as it was her chest still moved as breaths slipped in and out of parted lips. In awe struck silence he slipped his fingers around her wrist and located that point, and felt the blood flowing through. He didn't realize the loud thud he heard was his own body slipping to the ground on his knees until he's holding that hand, praising Naga of her good deeds until a flurry of footsteps made their way to the tent, even Minerva nosing her head in to check on the priest and tactician. Prince Chrom himself had made it their first, but settled as he saw the priest who had eyes only for Naga and the tactician. "She lives," Libra whispered reverently, and the great lord hurried out as if Naga herself ordered him to leave, and knew he had informed the camp by the visitors that swarmed to the tent. Gerome had woken up in the pandemonium that had overtaken the tent, and he had taken his spot beside her on other side of the bed, occasionally gazing in disbelief at his wyvern who had stuck her head in the tent and laid it there. Miriel in particular beamed with relief, babbling to anyone nearby with enough biological jargon to make anyone's head spin about her technique with the bandages. Finally regaining her head, she pulled Chrom and Libra outside the tent.  
"It's time to change her bandages before her wounds get infected. I know everyone wants to see her, but the healers need to make sure Robin continues recovering. If you'd please, could you clear everyone besides Libra and I out of the vicinity? Seeing everyone when she awakens would surely overwhelm her." Chrom, while unhappy with the prospect of leaving, understood the reasons and went to clear the crowd off. Libra, however, was puzzled as to why he was chosen to stay. His healing magic could not help the bedridden tactician any longer, and he knew not of whatever archaic rites Miriel had read of that she expected him to perform. Upon his questioning, she merely smiled a gentle way that he'd only her procure during her impromptu wedding and assured him that his presence would be very reassuring to what would be a confused and distressed tactician. Libra once thought that he had seen nearly everything the world could have produced before, but now, he was not so sure. At least the mage had returned to her usual formal and complex way of speaking- as things were turning back to normal, it meant he didn't have to keep touching the hand he'd been discontent to let out of his own to make sure it was still real.

Libra had resolved when he had first seen the tactician to keep an eye on her. He'd already broken his promise once, and now went out of his way to right the wrong of his. Keeping a close eye on the health of all of his comrades, he would leave only shortly from her side to come crashing back at the slightest sign of danger. Naga had given him this rare second chance, an opportunity to protect and learn more about the guiding light of their band of fighters, and he would allow her this one chance to put her own wants and needs before others. Still, as time went on, he could not bring himself to try and unravel the tactician, but he knew her watchful eyes noticed his axe always protecting her back and his staff always keeping her a step out of danger. Still, she questioned nothing and neither did he, and they were back to the stasis of before.

She’s constantly on his mind now, and even the most oblivious members of the party have noticed the absentmindedness of the priest. When Vaike managed to weasel Libra's resolution out of him, he roared with laughter. "For someone so wise," he guffawed, "you're really oblivious." Libra's curiosity must have been more prevalent on his face than any kind of hurt, and the fighter was once again shocked at the obliviousness of the priest. "Even ol' teach can see what's going on here."

Although Libra could not say what he wanted to Robin, he had started having conversations with the woman. As expected, she was endlessly fascinating, interested in just about every topic under, and, if he had properly understood what he'd heard from Miriel, orbiting the sun. The priest and tactician shared many conversations as the sun rose just outside the chapel tent. She'd taken to praying as he did in the morning, and sharing tea with him afterwards in her tent, where Libra was astounded to discover the sheer amount of books and maps she had covering every surface that seemed to multiply after every trip the Shepards made to market. He found she also had a delightful sense of dry wit that would find its way into conversations, especially when the priest chastised her on the state of her tent and her lack of sleep, in which his title would quickly turn into "Mom and King Nagger". From art and tea to the future, these early morning chats became something Libra looked forward to.

The two never talked about that night. It was no use, he believed, to relive all the fear and desperation that shook him that night if the results were the same. And if Robin knew what had happened, she did not let on. She persisted, leading the Shepards to victory day in and day out, devouring book after book of strategy on the side. From his spot inside the chapel tent Libra prayed for the Shepards, for peace, and for the one who's candle never seemed to dim, even into the late hours of the night when not a sound could be heard but the rustling of maps and flicking of pages.

It was Nah who finally broke the bubble Robin and Libra had been living in. Libra knew Robin watched Nah when she went on her rampages, knew she was there so the young manakete, who's body had not quite caught up to her mental maturity and intelligence, would not fly out of control. Robin trusted the young girl, even if she could be petulant at times, and Libra trusted in her maturity and self control which was prevalent in the few times they'd conversed. Regardless, he believed his presence would be, although reassuring for him, unnecessary and unwanted for the sporadic splurges. But when he saw the young manakete, for once acting her age and tugging on his sleeve and crying, that he saw the incident with Gerome all over again. His staff in hand and axe strapped to his back, without a word of departure he ran and the manakete led him to Robin trapped under a few fell trees. Her silver sword was doing little to sweep through the flora, and her sluggish movements only served to drain her further. With a gentle word to the shivering girl beside him, he sliced through the timber with vengeance. When the way was clear, Robin shambled towards him, and it was only when Nah started sobbing and the tactician consoling her that Libra found himself again. They limped back to camp a dirty mess, Libra dripping sweat, Robin leaning lightly on the priest and favoring her left side, and Nah holding Libra's hand, her usually composed indifference a stark contrast to her tear stained cheeks. After leaving Nah with an usually stern and apologetic Nowi and many reassurances it was an accident and not her fault, the priest and tactician hobbled to the medical tent. Despite the deep scratches from the thorns and nettles as well as his muscles screaming for relief, Libra had looked to take care of whatever wounds Robin had obtained from the trees. Robin seemed to have the opposite thought and went to seek out bandages and any kind of pain relief Panne had crafted for them. Lissa, who had arrived shortly after she had heard the commotion, was not having either of these things. With the graceful authority of a Ylisse princess few knew she could command so effectively, she ordered them both into beds and bandaged them both, clucking her tongue at the volume of injuries. With the same tone that Libra privately thought could snap Naga into submission, they were ordered to bed rest. Robin was uncharacteristically silent, and Libra thought she had just passed out from exhaustion. He too was on the brink of sleep when he heard the whisper of the tactician's voice.  
  
"I knew Libra. I knew what happened that night and I knew what you and the others did for me. I know you had to perform last rites and you were trembling the entire time and I'm so sorry I worried you in that way. Now you've saved me again and I haven't done anything for you and I'm just sorry for being a coward." A coward? Surely, she was delusional. She must have had head trauma, he'd have Miriel do an inspection as soon as he was allowed to move again. "I understand if you..."  
  
"Don't." Libra's voice surprised both of them. He was down the rabbit hole now though, so he figured he might as well go for it. "Ever since back in Plegia when I first met the Shepards I knew you were something special," a breathy laugh from the other bed confirms she knows exactly what he was talking about. "You've saved us more times than we can ever repay you for. I'm going to keep helping you as long as you allow it, because for all the work and worry you put yourself through you never ask anything in return." It's a testament to the sheer amount of conversation they've shared that he can practically see her raised brow before she speaks.  
  
"I could be saying the very same. After I almost died," He winced as she finally acknowledged the event with such nonchalance, but she plowed through, "We could all see the new intensity you've fought with and dedication to training. But you'll still sit with me while I ramble in the early morning about nothing, even when you have plenty of priestly responsibilities to take care of." He was sure she too could feel the expression of disbelief on his face, so the only response he could manage was a soft sigh. The tension in the air could be cut with a sword. Willing himself to take the plunge he'd spent so much time fearing, he turned on his side to look at the woman merely an arms length away, and she scuffled with the blankets until she could do the same. He tentatively reached across the fragile divide, in this moment not the priest and the tactician but just a man and a woman. And as she smiled and laced their fingers, and with that small gesture he knew another great thing, greater than before, had begun.


End file.
